Course Correction
by MaggieMayI
Summary: "She just shook her head, knowing that she knew everything and nothing all at once, and had no way to explain any of it to him." Now that Jane knows she wiped her own memories, will she stay on mission? Or follow her heart? My take on what happens immediately following 1x10.
1. Chapter 1

Jane didn't know how long she'd been lying there. Alone. In disbelief.

It could have been hours, or just mere minutes ago that the carefully constructed world she had built for herself over the past few months emphatically collapsed.

After the initial shock, she'd made Oscar replay the video three times… maybe four… she couldn't quite remember because, to this minute, it continuously replayed in her mind. This stranger, with her voice, her eyes… offering supposed proof that this plan was all hers. Jane just couldn't grasp the concept that she was responsible for her own undoing.

She didn't know the man that had stood in front of her, couldn't read his eyes. The tree that adorned his arm, her memory of his face, told her without asking that he once meant a great deal to her, but for him, her heart was a blank slate. It was another man that now dominated her memories.

So, of all the questions she could have, no, _should_ have asked, one took precedence over all others.

"Am I Taylor Shaw?" she pleaded, with her eyes, her heart. She needed to know… for herself, but also, and maybe more importantly, for the befuddled man she'd just left a few short hours ago. For while the initial longing that she be his lost childhood friend always lingered in his unyielding gaze, she had realized, after the possessive way he had held her in the street, that his longing was equally for the woman she was now. So while the answer to the question lessened in importance for her, she wanted to give Weller the resolution he deserved.

She couldn't determine whether it was sympathy or pity she saw register in Oscar's eyes at her inquiry, but a slight frown was all he could muster for her.

"I'll tell you everything… but not now," he had replied. "Weller and company will be here soon. I'll find you when the time is right."

"What do you mean? You're leaving me here?" she uttered in disbelief at Oscar's retreating form. "What do I say? What do I do?"

He paused and turned to look back. "Tell them the truth... tell them you were abducted by the CIA," he replied. "Just leave me and the video out of it."

Her panic was quickly setting in. How would she explain any of this when Weller showed up?

"Weller…"

She didn't dare utter more than a whisper, but her heart broke just saying his name. How happy she had been just a small time ago, to finally have the moment that she'd been thinking about for so long. That her bravery stemmed from another's tragedy - a tragedy that, for all intents and purposes, was her fault - made this story even sadder. Any hope for her future lay crushed under the weight of what Oscar's video had implicated.

This was her doing. She chose to do this to herself. She chose to infiltrate the FBI, to align herself with Weller, to use him to accomplish a specific mission. But what? And why?

* * *

Something wasn't right.

Sarah had gone to bed some time ago but Kurt just couldn't close his eyes. He was still shocked by what had transpired earlier on the street. After their foray into the world of undercover, he knew that something between Jane and him had shifted, but he also knew it still wasn't something he should act on.

Not that he didn't allow himself to think about it… and often. The feel of her arms draped over his shoulders, his fingertips pressed into the sharp turn of her hip, the warmth of her breath against his skin as they danced. It had all felt so… normal, even in the most extreme of circumstances.

He remembers now the helicopter ride back to the FBI building. Safe, sound, and back to being Kurt and Jane, she had still unconsciously reached for his hand… a gesture that had kept them tethered throughout the day. The solid metal of her ring against his skin had awakened feelings he couldn't quite comprehend. Nevertheless, and despite Zapata's raised eyebrow, he'd held on tight, knowing that as soon as their feet touched the ground the spell would be broken.

Tonight she had grabbed his hand once again, her grasp accompanied by a palpable need in her voice. When her lips had collided with his, the surprise of it only lasted a second. The absolute rightness of it all caused him to instantly pull her in.

Shortly after she'd left, Kurt realized how stupid he'd been to let her walk home alone. He was so dumbstruck at the time, and preoccupied by Sawyer's interruption, the thought never crossed his mind to call her detail and have them pick her up.

But it did now.

He'd left her that message over an hour ago and still hadn't heard anything back. He didn't want her to think him needy, but his worry outweighed his pride.

After another missed call to her phone, a call to her detail confirmed his suspicions. She'd never made it back.

* * *

"Patterson, give me something!" Weller shouted into the phone as he sped in the direction that Jane had walked just a few hours ago.

"I'm tracking the GPS on her phone," Patterson calmly responded, "just give it a few more seconds to triangulate her location."

Weller huffed his impatience, chiding himself for being so stupid.

That kiss had reduced him to a thoughtless teenager, and now Jane was paying the price for his mistake.

"I'm not going to lose her again," was all he could think as he raced through the city streets.

"Okay," Patterson chirped in his ear, "I've got her at a warehouse on the corner of E. 106th and 3rd.

"I'm 10 minutes out," Weller responded after plugging the address into his GPS. "Get her coordinates to Reade and Zapata immediately."

He abruptly hung up and stomped on the gas pedal.

* * *

Her fingertips burned. Not only from the fact that the bindings holding her wrists were slowly cutting off her circulation, but also from the memory of her skin against Weller's scruffy cheek… his ear… his neck.

She shuddered, part from the cold, damp wet that encompassed her, part from the feel of his lips against hers.

It has been about twenty minutes since the shrill of her phone had filled the empty warehouse space. Jane could only imagine that it was Weller wondering where she was. The fact that he probably had Patterson tracking her whereabouts gave her some small comfort, but she was still terrified to see him face to face.

Her head was swimming… traversing back and forth between her moment with Weller and Oscar's video. Back and forth between wanting Weller to rescue her and hoping she's never found, because if he finds her, the spark that had captivated them earlier would be extinguished.

How could she explore this new part of their relationship if she knows it's all a lie?

"But is it?" she asks herself.

She has no idea why she formulated this plan to begin with, what her endgame is. She supposes Oscar will explain that in time, but for now, isn't it up to her to decide what to make of her new situation?

Her feelings for Weller are real; she knows this… but that video was real too.

The sound of footsteps jolts Jane back to reality. She hears them nearing and strains to see who is approaching – praying at the same time that it both is and isn't Weller. Tears unconsciously stream down her cheeks and the panic begins to rise once again.

How does she go forward from here?

* * *

Weller circles the building twice while waiting for Reade and Zapata to arrive. The building is buttoned up tight, save for one side door that is slightly ajar. Zapata calls, they are ten minutes out, but Weller can't wait any longer.

He announces he's going in, hanging up on Zapata's protest. He's out of the car and through the door before he can formulate a plan.

His flashlight bounces off the dark walls, leads him towards a faint glow at the end of the long hallway he's found himself in. As the dim light grows, he sees two bodies slumped in the only open doorway. He inches towards them, ears open to any sound coming from within.

He reaches the two forms on the ground, and nudges both with a heavy foot. The pool of blood beneath them and their lack of response tell him he's probably in the right place.

He steps over the pair and presses his body against the wall. Leading with his weapon he quickly scales the corner. Amid the floor to ceiling pillars his light comes to rest against a third body. Weller scans from foot to head, and exhales sharply as he realizes its Carter.

Before he can formulate a thought on what the hell happened, her voice pulls him to the other side of the room.

* * *

She strains her neck to catch a glimpse of the doorway. All she can see at first is the glow of a flashlight as it bounces off the hallway walls. Then suddenly he's in the room, his light has found Carter's body and he's frozen.

The mixture of both fear and relief is too overwhelming. She can't stop the onslaught of emotional tears that flood her cheeks.

"Kurt…"

She doesn't even realize she's said his name until he abruptly turns from Carter, his eyes finding her own.

* * *

The first thing he sees is her eyes, the mischief they held earlier as she said goodbye now replaced by abject fear. Tears are streaming down her cheeks and she's close to hyperventilating.

His eyes leave hers and he sees that she's tied to a bench. He scans the room, sees the jug and towel on the floor, takes in her wet hair, soaked clothes and damp skin.

"Jane…" her name unconsciously leaves his lips as he rushes to her side. He holsters his weapon, drops his light, and his hands instantly cradle her face.

"Oh god, Jane, what happened?" He asks as his thumbs graze over her cheeks. He meant it as a comforting gesture but it only makes her cry harder.

* * *

His hands are on her cheeks and his eyes are full of unmasked concern. She should feel utter relief, but instead she starts to panic. All she wants to do is run, but she's still tied to the bench.

"Can you untie me?" she asks, afraid that she'll hit full panic attack mode if she doesn't get back her mobility immediately.

Weller jumps back in surprise, realizing that she was still bound to the bench.

He takes out his knife and cuts the ties that are holding her captive, but before she can get up and get some distance, he is lifting her to a seated position and enveloping her in his arms.

He murmurs words she can't understand as his fingers skim every inch of her that he can reach while she is wrapped in his embrace. It's everything she's ever wanted from him, but now she questions if she's even allowed to have it.

Without uttering a word she feels like she's already betrayed him. But his embrace is so inviting, she can't stop herself from relishing the moment.

His calming effect causes the immediacy of her panic to fade, but it lingers, along with the shock of everything that's happened to her this evening.

With her heart rate relatively back to normal, his hands slide to her shoulders and he pushes her out of his embrace.

"Who did this to you?" He asks as his eyes scan her face. "Was it Carter?" he probes. "Who shot him?"

These were the questions Jane was dreading, for she had no answers.

"I don't know," she mumbled, staring anywhere but directly into his eyes.

"Jane…"

She just shook her head, knowing that she knew everything and nothing all at once, and had no way to explain any of it to him.

A single fingertip under her chin forced her eyes to meet his own. What she saw there, the guilt and the fear, the longing and the love, it was too much.

"Kurt, I don't know," she sobbed, burying her face in his shoulder.

"Okay, okay," he conceded, "We'll figure this out later."

He held her tight until they heard footsteps in the hallway, accompanied by the distinct sound of Zapata and Reade's voices.

Jane reluctantly pulled from his embrace, knowing that her grace period was almost over. They were going to want answers, and she still had no idea what she was going to say.


	2. Chapter 2

Weller left Reade and Zapata at the warehouse, opting to take Jane back to headquarters immediately instead of staying at the scene. Whatever Carter had been planning, he knew it had a deeper connection to Jane and her tattoos, but it wasn't anything that would be figured out tonight.

Jane was silent on the ride back to the FBI, he watched as she slowly curled herself into a ball on the front seat. Presently, her arms were wrapped tightly around her knees, her forehead rested against the passenger door glass, and she was shaking slightly.

He blasted the heat, knowing she was anything but comfortable in her soaked clothes, but the shaking only seemed to get worse.

At a red light he struggled out of his jacket.

"Here, it will keep you warm until you can change your clothes," he said, holding the jacket in front of her.

Her eyes were open but she didn't register his gesture at all.

"Jane," he said, a little more forcefully as he nudged her arm with the jacket.

She visibly recoiled at his touch, raising her hands in defense.

"Jane," he said again, almost a whisper, "hey, it's okay. It's just me."

Her wild eyes met his. When she finally _saw_ him, she lowered her still-shaking hands to her lap and her eyes to the jacket.

The light turned green and the car behind him laid on the horn. Jane jumped at the noise, but Weller stayed put.

"Just lean forward," he coaxed, wanting desperately to help her in any small way that he could. She looked so… lost. "Put this on so you don't catch cold."

She granted his request and he wrapped his jacket around her shoulders.

As the car moved forward once again, Jane wrapped her arms back around her knees and buried her face in the collar of his jacket.

* * *

Jane was grateful to whatever Weller had said to Reade and Zapata upon their arrival because they didn't say a word to her… just watched intently as he escorted her out with a firm hand on her lower back.

With the car headed back to headquarters, she quickly lost herself in her current conundrum. Does she tell him the truth? Does she lie until she can find out more from Oscar? Does she lie indefinitely? What happens if she tells the truth and he pushes her away? What happens if she lies and he finds out the truth? Anytime she's tried to keep anything from Weller, he's been able to see right through her. When he finds out, will he think she's just been using him? _Has_ she just been using him?

Jane was so lost in this endless stream of thinking that a sudden pressure on her arm sent her flying. Her hands flew up, preparing for the next blow, but it didn't come. She broke from her fog and saw, first, the concern in Weller's eyes, then the jacket he was holding in front of him.

It was then that she realized how badly she was shaking. The cold had seeped so soundly into her bones she was practically numb. The sudden beeping from the car behind them jolted her for the second time in the span of a minute. She caught his eye once again, and when he asked her to lean forward she did, letting him wrap his jacket around her shaking shoulders. As the car moved forward once again, she brought her knees to her chest, trying to retain any body heat she had left. She turned her cheek into the collar of his jacket, capturing the warmth that his skin had stained it with. The smell of his scent instantly calmed her. She left her face where it was for the remainder of the ride.

* * *

Weller parked the car in his usual spot, hopped out and rounded the front end. He opened the passenger side door and offered Jane his hand. She took it, gripped it so tightly it almost brought tears to his eyes. Not that it hurt any, rather, it made him once again wonder what she'd gone through after leaving him on the street that would put her in such a state.

They rode the elevator in the same fashion, her hand tightly encased in his. When the requisite ding announced their floor, Jane made to extract her hand from his. But he didn't let her let go. He held on firmly, pulling her out of the elevator.

Mayfair caught his eye from across the floor, but he dismissed her with a slight shake of his head. Opting to pull Jane straight into the locker room.

Once inside, she automatically sat down on one of the benches.

Weller moved around her, trying to think of any way he could help alleviate the lost look that haunted her gaze. He grabbed a towel from the rack and dug through her locker to find a fresh set of clothes. He placed everything on the bench nearest the showers. As he was hunting for soap and shampoo, her voice cut through the thick silence that surrounded them.

"This is where I was when decided to come see you tonight."

"What?" Weller said, confused.

"Patterson," Jane mumbled. "She found me as I was getting ready to leave. She was so upset about David. That she pushed him away." She paused, meeting his eyes. "I was doing that to you and I didn't… if I never got the chance…" she looked away as fresh, silent tears slipped down her cheeks.

"Listen," Weller responded as he dropped to his knees in front of her, wrapping his hands around her shoulders, "I'm here. I'm here with you." She nodded, still unable to meet his eyes.

He pulled his jacket, then hers, off her shoulders, leaving her in just her tank top. "Let's just get you warmed up and into some dry clothes. Then we'll figure everything out."

He pulled her boots off her feet and led her over to the showers. He turned on the hot water full blast and gestured for her to take over.

"I'm going to go brief Mayfair," he explained as he inched towards the door. "Once you're finished, just head out to the floor. I'll be waiting there for you, okay?"

She stared at the pulsing water and nodded slowly.

With that, he turned and left her there.

* * *

Jane wasn't exactly sure how long she stood outside the showers, but by the time she got out of her head long enough to fully realize her surroundings, the room was filled with steam. She crossed her arms, lifting her tank and sports bra from her body simultaneously. She winced at the pain in her shoulders... ran her hands lightly over the raw skin that circled her wrists. Being tied down in such an awkward position for so long had its consequences. She dropped her shirt on the floor, stepped out of the rest of her clothes and walked towards the warm spray of water.

She stood with her back to the shower head and let the water cascade over her shoulders and back. It was just a touch too hot, but it felt wonderful against her bitter cold limbs.

Unconsciously she turned to let the water run down her face, but as it hit her lips she instantly started to choke. The feel of the wet cloth against her face as Carter practically drowned her over and over again came back. Panic set in and Jane shrank to the floor, her back up against the wall, the water hitting the tiles in front of her. She buried her face in her knees and began sobbing uncontrollably, finally releasing the pent up fear, anger and confusion from her abduction experience and Oscar's personal revelation.

* * *

Weller hadn't made it two steps out of the locker room when Mayfair cornered him.

"What's going on, Weller?" she demanded.

"Honestly, I don't know," he replied. "Jane hasn't been able to give me anything and I'm trying like hell not to push her too far. I'm going to sit down with her once she's gotten into some dry clothes. Have they found anything at the scene?"

Mayfair gave him the rundown. The two men in the hallway had been identified as CIA operatives under Carter's command. Their actual intent for Jane was still unknown.

Weller walked her through the state he had found Jane in, and surmised that Carter had been trying to get information out of her.

"I can only assume he thought she knew something more than she did," Weller suggested. "With all of the government corruption these tattoos have been leading us to, maybe he thought she knew something she shouldn't."

Mayfair's lack of response made Weller think that his guess was spot on.

"Does this have something to do with Daylight?" he asked.

A knowing look crossed Mayfair's face, but before she could reply, the shout of his name from across the room had him turning.

"Agent Weller!"

He couldn't remember the junior agent's name, but she knew his, and was hurrying toward him across the room.

"What's going on Agent?" he demanded.

She hesitated, looking back and forth between him and Mayfair. "I… I think Jane needs some help," she offered, glancing back toward the locker room.

Weller glanced down at his watch and realized he'd left her in the locker room over 30 minutes ago. She should have been out by now.

"Do you want me to…" Mayfair offered, but Weller cut her off.

"I got this," he said. "Thank you Agent. Could you have someone get some coffee and some food into the conference room for me please?"

The junior agent nodded and hurried away.

"I'll be right back," he told Mayfair. "Maybe we should call Dr. Borden in."

"I'll call him right now," she replied as he headed back towards the locker room.

* * *

The entire room was filled with a steamy fog. The sauna-like temperature quickly brought sweat to his brow. He walked slowly through the cloudy air, dodging benches and gym bags.

The shower head he'd turned on was still running full force, her discarded clothes littered the floor, but he didn't see Jane anywhere. He rounded the chest-high wall that separated the shower area from the lockers with the intent to turn off the water, instead, he found her curled in the corner.

He had seen her like this before. Maybe not in person, but like everyone else on his team, he's spent endless hours studying every inch of her body. In some ways, he felt like he knew hers better than he knew his own. He'd be lying to himself if he said he'd never thought about seeing her this way, but he forced himself to stay clinical, not wanting to take advantage of her vulnerability.

"Jane…" he whispered, not wanting to scare her.

Her head shot up, eyes meeting his. A silent sob escaped her lips as she shook her head.

"I'm sorry…" she mumbled, as a violent shake ran through her entire body. She hugged her knees tighter, attempting to make herself as small as possible.

He reached for the knob and turned the water off.

"Jane, it's okay," he said, his heart fracturing further with each of her breathy exhales.

He grabbed the towel off the bench and knelt down in front of her.

"C'mon, let's get you dressed."

He grabbed her by the elbows, lifted her to a standing position and immediately wrapped the towel around her body. She sagged against the wall, but stayed standing. He wrapped his arm around her shoulders and guided her towards the benches, to the pile of clean clothes he'd left out for her.

As she reached for the pile Weller turned in the opposite direction, trying to give her as much privacy as he could without leaving her alone again. His ears were acutely attuned to her every movement as she slowly got dressed. He couldn't believe how stupid he'd been for the second time that night. First... letting her walk home alone, and now, practically shoving her into the shower by herself after she'd just nearly drowned.

A sharp hiss suddenly had him turning. He was faced with her back. He scanned her skin, imagining the bruises that were already forming, hidden below the tapestry of color that covered them. He watched for a second as she struggled to get her shirt over her head, then was instantly up and over to help her pull the fabric down.

"Thanks," she whispered as she unconsicoulsy rubbed her shoulders.

Not knowing exactly what to do now that she was fully dressed, he grabbed her brush from her locker, and handed it to her. He caught her eyes in the exchange, and for the first time since she'd left him on the street, he could see a bit of _her_ again.

"I'm sorry I'm not handling this better," she said as she pulled the brush through her hair, "I'm really embarrassed that you had to…"

"No, it's my fault Jane," Weller gruffly replied, upset with himself that she'd even feel the need to apologize. "Carter tortured you… almost drowned you, and then I sent you in to take a shower by yourself. How stupid can I be?"

She could see the guilt all over his face, but it was she who was guilty. If she hadn't snuck out… no, if she hadn't wiped her own memories to align herself with the FBI, none of this would have happened. But she couldn't bring herself to tell him… not here… not now.

"Thank you for pulling me out of there," she offered instead, pleading with her eyes, making him understand that she accepted his apology.

He nodded, having nothing else to say.

He sat with her as she put away her things. When she ran out of tasks to complete, she turned to look at him.

"I have some food and coffee in the conference room for you," he offered. "And Mayfair and I have some questions… if you're ready."

She knew she wasn't, but she also knew she couldn't stall any longer.

"Can I have just a minute?" she asked. "I promise I'll be right out."

He searched her eyes, and upon finding the truth in her statement, he nodded and walked out of the locker room.


	3. Chapter 3

Ten minutes later, Jane left the locker room behind and headed towards the conference room. Ten minutes was apparently all it took for her to decide her fate, to decide her future. The little information Oscar had given her wasn't nearly enough to go on, but her decision wasn't really about that. It was about the person she was now… the person she'd decided to be.

Since waking up in Times Square just a few short months ago, all of Jane's decisions had been made based on gut instinct… and that instinct had been to help others… to do what's right.

While her memory flashes hinted that her decisions haven't always been the right ones, she continually reminds herself that without the full picture, they're hopefully being taken out of context. Still, these horrendous acts haunt her every day. The stress of it all is already too much. She doesn't think her new secret will keep long.

Jane doesn't know if she can trust Mayfair, especially given the fact that Weller doesn't seem to have much appreciation for her lately, but she knows that she can trust him. Knows that in the deepest part of her being that he will take her word as truth. And while what she's decided to tell him will fundamentally change the way he looks at her, the way he feels about her, she knows in her heart it is the right thing to do.

* * *

Weller is sitting at the conference room table when Jane walks in. He lets out a breath of relief when she offers him a half smile.

She idles in the doorway, not sure what to say or do.

"There's some coffee here if you'd like," he offers, pointing at the Styrofoam cup on the table, "and some sandwiches in the fridge if you are hungry."

Her stomach recoils at the thought of food, but she thinks she can handle the hot liquid.

"Coffee sounds good, thanks," she says as she walks towards the table.

She sits across from him, reaches for the cup and takes a small sip. She leaves her hands around the cup, stealing its warmth.

"Mayfair will be here shortly," Weller began, "and Dr. Borden is on his way, in case you'd like to talk to him after."

She nods, unsure of what to say. Jane can only imagine what the good doctor would have to say if she were honest with him about the events that transpired this evening.

"Jane, I…"

But Weller doesn't finish. Mayfair's sudden entrance stopped him from saying whatever it was he was going to say.

"Can you walk me through what happened tonight?" Mayfair asks, wasting no time as she takes a seat across from Jane.

She glances over at Weller; his eyes are so clear she thinks she can see right through him. It's a vulnerability she's never seen before and doesn't understand it, until she sees the slightest shake of his head. In that moment she understands.

"I… I snuck out," Jane started, shifting her gaze back towards their boss, sparing him by throwing herself under the bus instead.

"Snuck out?" Mayfair asked, surprised. "Why? How?"

"I know its wrong, but I just feel so… trapped sometimes… in that house," Jane explained. "My detail is so focused on stopping people from coming in, they don't see anyone going out," she said, shrugging.

"So you've done this before?" Mayfair asked.

Jane nodded. "A few times. I just take a walk, or ride the subway. It just makes me feel… normal."

Mayfair let out a frustrated sigh, as much upset at Jane as she was at the FBI detail that should have done a better job watching her.

"So tonight," Mayfair led, moving on.

"Was like any other time," Jane said, glancing once again at Weller. She couldn't read him at all and didn't know if that was a good or bad thing. "I snuck out, went for a walk. That's when they jumped me."

"Jumped you?" Mayfair asked.

Jane explained the three masked men, the hood over her head, the van ride to the warehouse she ended up at.

"I could tell they were professionally trained. They overpowered me pretty quickly."

Jane continued, took Mayfair through being dragged into the building, tied to the bench.

"I wasn't expecting to see Carter when the hood was ripped off, but there he was."

"What did he want with you?" Mayfair asked.

Jane explained how he taunted her with the one-way ticket to CIA black site hell. At this, Weller shifted uncomfortably in his seat, his mask momentarily dropped. Jane could see the guilt, fear and shame written all over his face. But as quickly as the mask slipped, it was back in place.

"And after that?" Mayfair prodded, not looking especially surprised at Jane's revelation.

"He just kept asking me questions about who I was, who I worked for and what my tattoos really meant," Jane explained. "He used waterboarding several times, but despite me telling the truth, he wasn't happy with the answers I gave him. That's when he pulled out the drill."

"A drill?!" Weller exclaimed, his palms hitting the table in front of him. Jane jumped at his response, then watched as his eyes scanned every part of her that was visible above the conference room table – looking for injuries he might have missed.

"It's okay," Jane responded, turning her attention back to Mayfair, "he didn't get the chance to use it."

"Why not?" asked Mayfair.

"Multiple shots were fired outside the room where I was being held. Carter backed off, moved towards the door to see what was going on. That's when he was shot."

"Who shot him?" Mayfair asked.

This was it. The moment when she had to completely veer from the truth. She just hoped her and Weller were on the same page in regards to Mayfair. It was the only way this would work.

"I didn't see," Jane said, looking anywhere but at Weller. "Whoever it was stayed in the shadows by the door. I heard the shots fired and watched Carter slide to the floor. I tried to get a better look but I could only turn my head so far. Whoever it was ran once Carter dropped. They just left me laying there."

"Who could it have been?" Mayfair asked. It was more of a wonder-out-loud statement than a direct question, but the silence that followed it hung heavy just the same. It was the type of silence that interrogators used to guilt guilty people into telling the truth. It was quickly making Jane uncomfortable.

"It could have been the third man," she offered, not able to stand it any longer.

"The third man?" Mayfair questioned.

"I was taken by three men, none of which were Carter," Jane explained. "But there were only two dead men outside the door when we left."

"You said they were masked, how do you know it wasn't Carter," Mayfair countered.

"They were all of slim build, athletic, very efficient in hand to hand combat. I got a good hit in on each of them before they took me down. Based on Carter's build, the way he carries... carried himself," she corrected pausing, "I know it couldn't have been him."

For the first time since Jane had started lying, she snuck a glanced at Weller. His eyes were filled with questions. Clearly he didn't believe a word that came out of her mouth, but he wasn't sure why she was lying. She could only hope that he'd stay silent about it until Mayfair was done with her inquiry.

"So, someone under Carter's command didn't like what he was up to," Mayfair surmised.

Jane's quick thinking was paying off. It was entirely plausible that she was saved by someone in the CIA… and also very hard to prove.

"Okay," Mayfair sighed. "That's enough for tonight. Reade and Zapata are about done at the scene. Go home and get some rest. We'll pick this up in the morning."

Jane nodded, stood immediately, turned and walked towards the door as quickly as she could without actually running. She knew she couldn't escape him forever, but she wanted to hold onto the idea of the bubble they'd built for themselves just a little bit longer.

"Jane…"

'Damn,' she thought, turning to the sound of her name. Apparently Weller had other ideas.

"I'll give you a ride home." It wasn't a question, it was a statement.

"Its okay…" she countered, "my detail is waiting outside…"

"No," Mayfair interrupted, "take her home Agent Weller. And figure out what the hell that detail is up to. This sneaking out cannot happen again," she said, shifting her commanding gaze from Weller to Jane.

Jane nodded, standing aside as Mayfair exited the room.

Weller and Jane were instantly at a standoff. He looked at her and she looked right back at him. She could see the betrayal seeping into his eyes, but also, questions. Jane hoped he would give her the benefit of the doubt, at least for now.

After a full minute of staring at each other, he finally seceded.

"Would you like to talk to Dr. Borden before we go home?" he asked.

' _we' … 'go home'_

She knew he wasn't conscious of what he'd said, but it made her insides crumble just the same. Unable to reply, she just shook her head. She turned away from him and took a deep breath, trying to keep the tears at bay.

"Okay," he huffed, "let's go then."

They exited the room together and walked towards the elevator, his hand a hair's breadth away from the small of her back.

It was the end of the beginning and the beginning of the end.


	4. Chapter 4

The ride back to the safe house was far from silent, but neither Weller nor Jane had spoken a word since getting in the elevator.

It was almost as if she could here him thinking… wondering what it was that she left out of her question and answer session with Mayfair.

She fidgeted in her seat as she watched him grip the steering wheel. His grasp so tight, his knuckles were a constant shade of off-white.

She kept waiting for him to say something, anything. But the words never came.

When they arrived at the safe house, he met her as she climbed out of the SUV, and walked just a fraction of a step behind her up the walk. Almost like he was walking a perp to lockup.

Out of the corner of her eye she watched as he repeatedly clenched and unclenched his jaw.

At the door she drew out her keys.

She walked through the door ahead of him, not bothering to invite him in because she knew he'd follow her regardless. Her eyes instantly rested on the wall covered with drawings and clues… her own attempt at making sense of her ink-covered skin. To think that she'd actually done this to herself was unthinkable. She still couldn't wrap her mind completely around it.

"Jane..."

His voice had her turning back towards the door. She could see the question in his eyes, the uncertainty. Just looking at him broke her heart all over again, but as selfish as it was, she wanted one more moment that was just them before she told him the truth.

Practically barreling into him, she surprised even herself with the force of the kiss. His back hit the door as her arms wrapped around his neck. His hands unconsciously went to her hips, pulling her to him. His lips seared her own. The onslaught was overwhelming. His warmth scorched her skin. Changing the angle, she deepened the kiss. She could taste everything he felt… the want of her, the need. His fingertips pressed against the soft skin of her lower back, inching her even closer. She snaked her fingers through his hair, pulling him in. She was afraid to let go, to lose what she never really had.

Suddenly, he forced her back, hands on her shoulders. "Jane," her name a breathless whisper on his lips. "What is this?"

Her hands slipped from around his neck. Her left hand dropped, but her right hand stayed resting on his chest.

"I… I'm sorry," she said, memorizing the feel of the Henley covering his heart. "I just needed this. Just for one more minute."

She could see the confusion in his eyes. His stare was so intense Jane couldn't hold it. She turned away, stepping further into the room, her hands covering her eyes. Tears threatened to escape but she held them back. She'd done enough of that already this evening. It was time to face the truth.

"I know you kept something from Mayfair," he accused. "What aren't you telling me?"

She forced her eyes to meet his once again. She needed him to see the honesty there, that no matter what she was about to say, her intention was never to hurt him.

A deep breath in and the words spilled out.

"I know who shot Carter."

"What?" he said, taken aback by her frankness. "Who?"

Jane sighed, moving further into the room. He followed, but still kept his distance.

"Do you remember when we were talking about marriage, and I told you that I thought I had been engaged?" she asked, turning back towards him.

"Yeah," he answered gruffly. The spark of jealousy she saw in his eyes gave her pause.

"Well… it was him," she confessed.

"Him who?" Weller asked, still confused.

"The man from my memory, the one I think I might have been engaged to."

His only answer to her admission was a confused stare.

"It all happened like I said it did," she tried to explain. "But after Carter was shot, the man, Oscar…"

"Oscar?" he asked.

"Yes," she answered, "That's his name. He came into the room, and… I recognized him."

"From your memory?"

"Yes… I remember…" she flushed, thinking of one memory in particular, "him," she finished weakly.

"So what did he say?" Weller asked.

"He didn't say anything, not really," Jane replied. She sat on the couch, and was happy when Weller didn't follow. They needed their distance. "He played me a video."

"A video of what?" Weller asked.

"Of me."

She knew she wasn't making this easy for him to understand, but she really didn't understand it herself.

"Jane," Weller huffed. "You're not making sense."

"I know," she said. "It doesn't make sense. But it was me… I think from before."

"Before what?"

"This!" she said, frustrated. She stood then, pointing to the drawings on the walls. "Me. The bag in Times Square. The memory wipe. The tattoos. I had longer hair, I was addressing, well me as I am now I guess. The video said that it was all part of a plan, a mission. That I did this to myself. On purpose."

Weller could see she was getting upset. He could see she was as confused as he was. But it made no sense. If it was true, that would mean that it was plausible she wasn't Taylor; that the isotope test was right; that his name was on her back for a totally different reason. He tried to wrap his mind around it. Was it really possible?

"I don't understand…"

"I don't either!" she cried out desperately as she paced the floor. "He played the video over and over. I asked him to explain but he said he would contact me when the time is right. I don't know what it means. I don't know if it's real. I don't know what to think. It doesn't make any sense. Why would I do this to myself? Why would anyone do this to themselves?"

Her eyes found his. He could see the pleading. She wanted… no needed him to believe her, which, in a strange way, he did. But that still left a lot of questions, and a lot of issues to be dealt with. Number one of which was his name on her back.

"You chose me…"

It was a whisper, but she heard it. Heard the accusation behind it. It was exactly what she feared. That he would hold onto that and forget all the rest. Forget everything that had happened between them since she came to the FBI.

"Kurt I don't know," she desperately tried to explain. "I don't have any answers, just more questions than I can count. But what I do know is that this," she pointed from her to him and back again, "for me… it's real."

"Jane…"

"No, let me finish," she interrupted him. "If I've learned anything about you, it's that you are honest and trustworthy, and you do the right thing. You help people when they need help. You helped me in so many ways…" she paused, but he stayed silent, let her continue.

"I don't know if I did this to myself, or why, and to be honest, I don't care. When we first met you told me that even if none of my memories came back, instinctually I would be able to figure out who I am, and that you believed I was a good person. Well, I believe that about you, too. And I believe that if I did really do this to myself, if I… chose you, I did it for a reason. And that reason is because I knew then what I know now. You will find out the truth, and you'll do the right thing, no matter the cost."

Weller just stared at her, clenching his jaw, not saying anything.

"You can't deny that more often than not, my tattoos lead to serious issues concerning government corruption," she pressed.

His small nod told her he agreed.

"And if Carter's abduction tells me anything, it's that he was scared about something. Something that he feared my tattoos would uncover."

He finally sighed, shaking his head. "Jane I... this is a lot."

"I know," she said. "My intention was never to lie to you. But I know you have trust issues with Mayfair. I needed to tell you first, because I know you'll know what to do."

"My issues with Mayfair have nothing to do with you," he said, with the clinically detached tone he'd used with her the first time they met. "First thing tomorrow morning you are going to tell her the truth. All of it."

She nodded, unable to say anything.

"After which you will provide every detail of every memory that you have had thus far so that we can determine what exactly you are trying to accomplish with this 'mission.' Then we need to re-evaluate your status as an FBI asset. God only knows what you could have done with all of the access we've given you."

She swallowed her tears, determined not to lose it. She knew that by telling him the truth she was sacrificing any chance at them exploring their relationship any further, but she never thought he'd kick her off the team. It was all she had. What would she do if she could no longer work to find out what had happened to her?

"Kurt," his eyes once again met hers. The cold, hard steel blue she encountered caused her unshed tears to unconsciously spill to her cheeks.

"And the minute this Oscar contacts you with more information, you will tell us exactly what he tells you. Is that understood?" he said, distancing himself with his authoritative tone.

"You have to believe that it wasn't my intention to deceive you," she pleaded, stepping towards him. "I don't know any more about any of this than you do."

"We'll see about that, won't we?" he said, the hurt evident in his tone.

"I'm not her," she whispered, no longer able to control her tears.

"It doesn't matter," he responded. "A mission is a mission."

"What if I don't want it to be my mission anymore?" she tried to argue.

"Is that really an option?" he asked with a half-hysterical laugh. "What happens when more memories come back, and you remember your plan? What then? You say you don't want it to be your mission now, but you could change your mind at any time. How can I trust you?"

"You know me," she pleaded, "better than anyone."

"I don't know anything about you," he spit back.

"Kurt," she reached out for his hand but he pulled away, backed towards the door.

His rejection was worse than anything she'd experienced since she unzipped that bag, but she didn't follow him. Just stood in the middle of the room, watching him walk away. She had already accepted that this loss would occur, she just didn't realize how badly it would hurt.

He reached the door and looked back at the broken women standing in the middle of the room. His heart hurt for her, for what they could have been, but he would not be a pawn in anyone's game. Not even hers.

"Don't even think about sneaking out," he warned as he turned the handle.

She nodded as he opened the door and shut it behind him.

With her head in her hands, Jane crumpled to the floor.


	5. Chapter 5

The composure he'd desperately clung to through Jane's admission dissipated the moment he slammed her door behind him.

Pure rage invaded his heart. Red bled through as far as his eyes could see. He stalked to the SUV, ripped open the door, slammed it shut, and then smashed his fist repeatedly against the steering wheel. The abuse did little to relieve his tension, but it at least refocused the pain from his heart to his hand.

Worn out from his steering wheel assault, Kurt stared at his self-inflicted wounds as he replayed what had just transpired.

He'd tried to stay level headed despite the utter shock her statement had brought on. He'd tried to see it from an FBI investigator's point of view… to stay detached and stick to the facts. Because what she said did have a ring of truth to it. Her deductions about the message behind her tattoos were very similar, if not exact, to his own. But his efforts to remain objective were fruitless. As the realization that he was simply a pawn seeped further and further in, he felt angrier than he ever had before. He felt used. He felt betrayed. He felt like the last four months of his life were a lie.

This woman, who'd effortlessly worked her way into his life… who'd invaded every aspect of his being… who'd made him feel things he'd never thought possible, she was nothing but a plant. A con. A lie.

He felt stupid. And sad. And then pissed all over again!

He was trying to remain objective, but the facts weren't just facts. He was too intertwined with everything concerning Jane. It had been a long night already, but he needed to bring this to Mayfair immediately. He simply couldn't handle this on his own.

His decision made, Weller took a deep breath and turned over the car's engine. He dialed Mayfair as he pulled a U-turn, heading back to headquarters.

* * *

Jane wasn't sure how long she sat wallowing in self-pity on the floor, but the beep of an incoming text message brought her back to the present. She grabbed her phone and her heart involuntarily jumped when Weller's name appeared on her screen.

It dropped instantly when she read his message. "FBI Building tomorrow. You have an appointment with Dr. Borden. 8 a.m." She wasn't sure what she expected because she shouldn't have expected anything from him, but his utter detachment hurt nonetheless.

* * *

Jane knew what it felt like to be stared at. Her tattoos drew attention. A lot of it. Even when she was sneaking around the city – a city where anything and everything was the social norm – she'd still catch people eyeing up her skin. But the stares she felt as she disembarked the elevator were nothing like she'd felt before. She instantly knew that everyone knew the truth. The jig was up. The small life that she'd built for herself was finished. Over. What little reassurance she'd gained from her meeting with Dr. Borden instantly vanished.

Jane was surprised, but talking with Dr. Borden had been helpful. Now that the (majority of the) truth was out, he had her walk him through the events of the prior evening. Not ready to tell him the whole truth, she stuck with her sneaking out to take a walk story, but told him the truth about Oscar's rescue and revelation.

"And how did that make you feel," he'd asked.

Jane laughed at that. "I feel like that is such a clichéd question," she'd responded, "And I barely understand what a cliché even is."

"I suppose you're right, but it's still relevant, is it not?" he'd retorted.

"I feel… so many things," she'd admitted. "I feel like it's all a dream, that none of it is real. I feel confused as to why I would do this to myself. I feel angry that just as…" she stopped herself, forgetting for a moment that what had happened between her and Weller was still between just them, "just as I was starting to build a life, it all came crashing down. I feel guilt for betraying everyone I've met, even though I don't remember doing what I've apparently done. I feel heartbroken…" she'd paused then, remembering her last encounter with Weller the night before.

"Why heartbroken?" Dr. Borden had asked.

Tears threatened to fall as Jane recalled the look on Weller's face. "If you had seen the hurt in his eyes… the betrayal… when he realized what I was telling him…" she wiped the drops as they spilled onto her cheeks. "How do you apologize for something that you're not even convinced you've done? And how does anyone ever believe that?" The questions were more for herself than for Dr. Borden, and he had remained silent after she'd asked them.

After that slight silence their conversation had continued. He'd pushed her to recall her memories of Oscar, and what she thought it all meant.

She told Dr. Borden everything she'd remembered... from her initial dream to the memory flashes of the engagement ring.

"Seeing him was so confusing, because I have these fragments of memories, but they're devoid of any feeling. I remember him, but at the same time I don't," she explained. "It's confusing because I can't figure out what it all means, how he fits in, how the mission fits in to where I am now. And I don't know what I'll do if I'm not able to help find out. To right this terrible wrong."

When their time was up, Dr. Borden had asked Jane to remain in his office, so that he could let Mayfair know that their session was over.

After a short wait, he'd informed her that the team was waiting for her in the conference room, so she'd taken the elevator up to confront them.

"Jane,"

The sound of her name broke her from her reverie. It was Mayfair, beckoning her into the conference room. She scanned the glass walls and saw Reade, Zapata and Patterson waiting patiently.

Taking a deep breath, she walked into the lion's den.

* * *

Jane had thought she knew what it felt like to be interrogated, but compared to the events that had transpired immediately following her departure from the bag in Times Square, this was way worse. So many eyes, eyes of the people closest to her, the people who'd come to trust her, looked at her as if she were a stranger. Their questions were silent gazes full of accusations, and she had no answers for any of them. She already felt mentally defeated and not a word had been spoken.

She waited for Mayfair to start, knowing her only purpose now was to provide them with information. And as much as it hurt, that was exactly what Jane was going to do. She'd promised herself the night before that no matter what it took, she would prove to the team that she wasn't the girl from the video… that she was choosing to do whatever she could to make things right.

"Okay, let's get sta…"Mayfair was interrupted by the opening of the conference room door. Jane turned to see who'd entered and her heart immediately dropped into her stomach. She wasn't sure why, but she didn't expect Weller to show up, to be here. But there he was. He strode purposefully into the room towards the opposite side of the table. She followed him with her eyes the entire way, but he refused to meet her gaze.

"Let's get started," Mayfair started again after Weller took his seat.

Jane turned her attention towards the Assistant Director, wanting to know what her fate would be.

"Agent Weller briefed me on the events that transpired last night," she started, "and to say that the situation is complicated would be a gross understatement. Now, I understand that you are struggling with what few memories you have gained, and that, combined with the trauma you experienced, it's understandable that you were hesitant to… fill us in on the details of your… rescue… shall we call it?"

"What?" Jane didn't understand. Mayfair was forgiving her for lying? How is that possible?

"Let me be frank," Mayfair stated. "Your omission of key information has compromised our investigation of your abduction, and could quite possibly affect the investigation into your past. And I can assure you that if you were an FBI agent, your transgressions would be cause for immediate termination. But because you are an asset, it makes the situation more complicated."

"I don't understand," Jane said, confused by what was happening.

"Agents Weller, Zapata, Reade and I have discussed the situation at length," Mayfair continued. "And I have consulted with Dr. Borden on your mental status, and your willingness to be forthcoming with all of the memories that you have recovered, as well as all those that you may recover in the future. We have concluded that regardless of why you made the choice that you did, your tattoos are helping to save lives. And the only way to learn more about your reason for doing this, is to convince this Oscar, as well as anyone else that may be watching you, that your cover is still intact."

Jane's mind was a whirlwind of thoughts. She had all but convinced herself that her place on the team was lost, that the FBI would throw her in some dark hole until they figured out the true meaning behind her plan. She never once imagined that they would allow her to maintain her position in order to keep up the illusion that her mission was still going as planned.

"So what you're saying is that I am still on the team? That I can help figure out why this was done to… er… why… I… did this to me?" Jane asked.

"Yes and no," Mayfair answered. "We can't deny the positive effect you've had on many of the investigations that these tattoo's have led to, and we know that if we pull you from the field, the people that know about your plan will know something is wrong. But we can't simply let you carry on as you did before, not without some assurances on our end."

"Such as?" Jane wondered.

"First off, if any new tattoos are unlocked, your participation in the subsequent investigation will be at the sole discretion of Agent Weller. Whatever he says, goes, and if you disobey any of his orders there will be repercussions."

Jane nodded. She shifted her attention from Mayfair to Weller, the first time she'd looked at him since he'd entered the room. His arms were crossed tightly across his chest, and his stare was focused on the table in front of him. She mentally pleaded for him to look up, but he wouldn't.

"Second," Mayfair continued, drawing Jane's attention back to her, "from now on you will meet with Dr. Borden three times a week. We understand and respect that what is said during your sessions with him is confidential, but he will be assessing your mental state and he will advise us if he feels that your role on the team could be compromised."

Jane nodded, agreeing to that as well.

"Also, you will submit to a polygraph test once a week. We will ask you about memories you've recovered, and if it is revealed that you have recovered new memories that you haven't told us about, you will be required to divulge them to us at once. We need to know if, and when, you recover any memories concerning the plan, or anything that could help us with any of our investigations."

Jane nodded, though not as enthusiastically as she had to the first two stipulations. It wasn't enough that her entire body was on display for the FBI to analyze, now her mind would be as well.

"And lastly," Mayfair continued, "When Oscar, or anyone else approaches you with information, or if you see anyone that you recognize, even if its just a glimpse on the street, you will inform Agent Weller and myself immediately. At that time we will decide what, if any, action needs to be taken. If you do not, your polygraph will reveal that, so you best do it as soon as contact is made."

Knowing that Mayfair was done with her speech, Jane shifted her gaze from the Assistant Director to each of her team members. Patterson stared back with pity poorly masked as compassion and Reade had nothing but contempt in his eyes, but Zapata, surprisingly, showed some understanding in her stare, a response Jane was not expecting. Weller, of course, still wouldn't look at her.

"And that's it?" Jane asked, shifting her gaze back to Mayfair.

"Yes," Mayfair answered. "If you agree to everything we've discussed, you will remain on the team and the investigation will continue."

"I'll do everything you ask," Jane answered immediately.

"Then we're done here," Mayfair said. "Agent Patterson, keep working the database. Agents Zapata and Reade, I want an update on Jane's abduction scene in ten."

The team all stood at once, having a purpose and ready to fulfill it. Jane stayed seated, knowing that while she wasn't off the team, her place was now basically just for show. She was at the mercy of a man who couldn't even stand to look at her.

Speaking of which… Jane noticed that Weller lagged behind the others as they left the conference room. She watched him walk out as she'd watched him walk in… following his every step. When he reached the doorway he hesitated, then turned back, his eyes finally meeting hers.

What she saw there took her breath away. The anger, the sadness, the betrayal, but also, the caring that hadn't left his stare since the first time she'd laid eyes on him. Tears stung at the corner of her eyes, knowing that she did this to him.

"Kurt," she whispered.

He just shook his head, not ready to hear what she had to say. He turned back towards the door, took another step, then sighed loudly and turned around once again.

"You were right about one thing," he offered then. "I'll figure this out… no matter the cost."

With that, she was alone once again.


	6. Chapter 6

**5 a.m.**

The blaring of her alarm jolted Jane awake. She slapped the offensive intruder with her palm and continued to lie in bed, listening intently to her elevated heartbeat as it slowly returned to normal. At five in the morning her room was still pitch black. The darkness encompassed her, seeped into her skin, swallowed her whole, just like the guilt that was slowly eating her away.

It had been three weeks. Three weeks since her life had changed yet again. Since her disclosure about Oscar and the video had the FBI scrambling to figure out what to do with her.

On the outside, the dynamic remained much the same. As tattoos hit, the team would investigate. Much to Jane's surprise, Weller rarely excluded her from any fieldwork. She assumed it was merely to keep up the façade that she didn't disclose Oscar's revelation, however, she secretly hoped it was because he knew, despite how he currently felt about her, that she was a real asset to the team… that they needed her.

To anyone not directly involved with Jane's case, on the outside it looked like business as usual. On the inside though… things couldn't have been more different.

Jane tried not to take it personally, but it was hard not to. Each member of her team reacted in his or her own way. Its not that Jane expected that things would bounce back and continue as usual, but the cold shoulder she received every day at the office made getting out of bed harder and harder. Not that they hadn't softened somewhat… some of them anyway.

Patterson was the first to come around. After what she'd been through with the loss of David, Patterson knew that life was fleeting and that things were rarely as they seemed. She'd said as much when she'd shown up on Jane's doorstep just three days after their conference room meeting.

The tattoo database had been slow to make any connections, so outside of her appointments with Dr. Borden, Jane had been spending all of her time at home, alone. She'd redoubled her efforts to try and make connections on her own, using the wall she'd set up in her living room, but her limited knowledge of the world coupled with her lack of access to technology only led to dead ends.

After giving up for the day, Jane was a quarter of the way through a bottle of bourbon when a knock at her door had her jumping. She peeked through the curtain and her heart skipped when she saw Patterson standing on her front step.

Jane opened the door slowly, unsure of what to say, but Patterson blew right by her, not even giving Jane a chance to invite her in.

"I brought dinner, I hope you like Chinese!" Patterson said, as she placed the plastic bags full of takeout on the counter.

"Um, yeah, I like Chinese," Jane answered, clear confusion in her voice. "Patterson, what are you…"

"When's the last time you ate?" Patterson asked, interrupting her.

Jane just shrugged, after which Paterson continued to bustle around the kitchen, looking more at home than Jane had ever felt.

Suddenly Jane's stomach growled. The smells wafting from the takeout bags reminded her that she couldn't really remember the last time she ate. Jane was instantly grateful for the food, and the company. It had been a lonely three days.

The two sat across from each other at Jane's kitchen table, eating in silence. Jane wolfed down the first few bites, but as she started to slow down, she realized Patterson was watching her.

"Listen Patterson, I just wanted to say…"

"No," Patterson interrupted her again, "I already know what you are going to say, and I appreciate it, but what I really need to do is to apologize to _you_."

"I don't understand," Jane said, confused, "If it weren't for me… David…"

Patterson sighed. "Do you know how easy it would be to blame you for his death?"

Jane just shook her head, unsure of what to say.

"I wanted to be mad at you, to blame you, to make you feel guilty for what you did," Patterson confessed, "but I've seen too much and know too much to allow myself that luxury. You may have done this to yourself, but our tests have proven time and again that you don't remember why. We have no idea what any of this means, and rationally, I can't allow myself to jump to conclusions. Until we figure out the mystery, all I can say is that these tattoos are saving lives."

"But David…"

"If David's death is anyone's fault, it's mine!" Patterson yelled as she stood from the table and started pacing. "I was the one who brought the photos to my apartment. I was the one who let him help me decode your tattoos, even when I knew it wasn't the right thing to do. I was the one that didn't stop him from following the clues. He was at that library because of me… not you."

Patterson sat then, cradling her head in her hands.

"Patterson… it's not your fault either." Jane scooted her chair closer to her friend, and pulled her hands from her face. "If you can forgive me, then you have to forgive yourself, too. We both have to accept that it was a horrible thing that happened, and we have to do our best to make sure it doesn't happen to anyone else," Jane said as she squeezed Patterson's hands and offered a small smile. Patterson smiled, albeit sadly, in return. She then pulled her hands from Jane's and started eating her food.

Jane went back to eating as well. They filled the space with small talk about the office. Patterson chatted mostly about the database, and how she thought they were close to cracking another tattoo. Jane was curious about what everyone was saying with her not there, but she was too scared to pry.

With dinner done, Patterson got up to head home.

Jane walked her to the door, and before Patterson could turn to leave, Jane wrapped her in a hug.

"Thank you," Jane whispered before she let go.

Patterson smiled and reached for the door handle. "Don't worry," she said as she walked through the door, "the rest of the team will come around. Just give them some time."

All Jane could do was nod, for she wasn't nearly as sure about that statement as Patterson was.

 **5:10 a.m.**

Momentarily extracting herself from her thoughts, Jane glanced at the clock. She pulled the covers tight to her chin and closed her eyes again, allowing herself the indulgence of staying in bed a bit longer. Patterson had been right when she said it would take some time for the team to come around. As the days passed, nothing monumental seemed change, but subtle differences were taking hold.

Reade, Jane realized, was very stubborn. When he formed an opinion, he was very slow to change it. The man had openly refused to accept her as part of the team when she'd first crawled out of the bag in Times Square – it had taken Jane months to earn his trust. And now, when the true intent of her appearance had been revealed, he'd quickly changed his tune and adapted an 'I told you so' attitude towards her and everyone else.

His disdain for Jane was no secret, and as much as it hurt, she understood it, and accepted it. Around the office he largely ignored her. The only time he even acknowledged her presence was when it was time to go out into the field.

A week and a half after the revelation, the team was gearing up in the locker room. Jane quietly prepared her gear, trying to remain invisible, while hyper-aware of the conversation happening the next row over – an echo of one she'd overheard months before.

"Why does she have to come with us?" Reade asked.

"Because she does," Weller had gruffly replied.

"C'mon Weller, make the right call here. She's an unknown. She could turn on us at any moment. We have to stop doing this. We're putting ourselves at risk."

"Reade, stop it!" Zapata had finally cracked, thwarting any sort of response that Weller might have had. "It isn't your call! So do us all a favor and keep your opinion to yourself. You do this every time we catch a break in the case and it's driving me, and everyone else, crazy."

"Weller…" Reade pleaded.

"Enough!" Weller yelled. "She's coming. End of discussion. If we have to talk about this again, it's you that'll be staying behind. Now let's go."

With that, Weller left the locker room, Zapata close on his heels. Jane secured the last of her gear and made to move out. She passed by Reade, who was still standing at his locker. She caught his eye and he simply shook his head, and then looked away.

The days since that altercation hadn't changed Reade's opinion of Jane, but at least he was no longer vocal about his disapproval. She could still read it in his eyes though. He was stubborn. He was holding out… waiting for the other shoe to drop. But if Jane was really honest with herself, she was waiting for the other shoe to drop as well. When she'd first started working with the FBI, she was desperate to remember anything she could about her past life. But now, she feared triggering any new memories would bring about a truth she didn't want revealed. So as uncomfortable as it was with Reade, Jane wished desperately to stay in the dark.

Where Reade was downright disapproving, Jane had found that Zapata had a different way of dealing with the situation. When they'd met each other's eyes in the conference room, Jane had seen understanding, but the detachment Zapata had displayed from that day on showed Jane that she was fiercely loyal to her team. Zapata didn't go out of her way to address Jane, but she didn't go out of her way to avoid her either. The friendly locker room banter was gone, but Zapata would still consult with Jane concerning the case if she felt she needed to do so.

After Patterson's visit however, Jane noticed a shift. Zapata picked up on the fact that Patterson and Jane were on good terms, and, at times, was unconsciously drawn in to the way things used to be. Jane would catch her smiling at a joke, and when Patterson invited her out for a drink, Jane saw a bit of regret in her eyes when she turned them down. Zapata continued to limit her interactions with Jane, but her demeanor slowly changed. The hostility lessened, and the silences became less uncomfortable.

Just over two weeks after Jane's revelation, the team had followed a tattoo to an apartment building in the Meatpacking District. The team had split up to stake out the front and back entrances. Reade and Weller had taken the front, which left Jane in an SUV with Zapata, with nothing to do but wait for their suspect to show up.

Zapata had the radio on low and was humming along with the song. It had been over two hours since they'd parked the car, and Jane was about sick of the silence.

"Do you remember when I asked you if it was possible for good people to do bad things, but still be good?" Jane suddenly asked.

Zapata stopped humming and turned to look at her.

"When I asked you that, I'd recently remembered something from… before," Jane went on, not bothering to wait for Zapata to say anything. "You've probably read about it now that all of my memories are being documented, but one of my first flashbacks was of a church, and I… executed a nun. Just… shot…" Jane paused, the guilt of the memory flooding her system. "Or, at least I thought it was a nun. When I searched the body I found a drive of some sort. I still don't know if I killed a nun, or someone posing as a nun. And I don't know what was on the drive. I executed someone point blank and I have no idea why. Whether it was an innocent bystander, or someone who deserved it, doesn't change what I did. And the fact that I can't remember makes this even harder because I don't _feel_ like a bad person. I don't _feel_ like a person who would intentionally harm anyone, least of all any of you. And I don't know how to make you believe that."

"Jane," Zapata sighed, "It's not that we don't believe you."

"You just don't trust me anymore," Jane finished for her.

"It's not your fault… you know… the you that you are now," Zapata tried to explain. "But what happens when you remember the you that you used to be? We have to be cautious. You must understand that."

"I do, I do understand that. But I might not ever remember," Jane countered. "And it's killing me, this… silence. I feel so much guilt for something I don't even remember doing. My heart aches every time any of you look at me. I don't know what else I can do…" she trailed off.

"That's the hard part Jane," Zapata answered with sincerity in her eyes, "we don't know what else you can do either. You just need to give it time."

Jane laughed. "Patterson said the same thing. Just give it time. It's just so hard to see you guys… to see Weller…"

"Yeah, what's up with that?" Zapata asked. "He looks like he wants to cry anytime he's anywhere near you. The man used to be a stone wall and now it's like he's going through puberty all over again."

Jane wanted so badly to tell her friend the truth about Weller, about the kiss, but the truth was they probably weren't friends anymore. And no matter how much Weller hated her right now, she would never betray his trust.

"I wish I knew," Jane lied. "Unless it's case related, he won't say a word to me."

"Have you tried to talk to him?" Zapata asked.

"Just once," Jane admitted, "and it didn't go very well."

"What happened?" Zapata asked, instantly intrigued.

 **5:17 a.m.**

Jane opened her eyes, because keeping them closed only led her to think back to the moment she'd shared with Weller. She turned her head to look at the clock. Her body was straining to get up, but her mind wouldn't cooperate. 'Just 10 more minutes,' she reasoned with herself, 'it's not like you have an active case right now anyway.'

But Jane knew that her mind didn't need any more rest, it was simply a glutton for punishment in the worst way. Because any thoughts of Weller, even horrible ones, were somehow better than no thoughts at all, and as much as she tried to keep those thoughts at bay, they consumed her. Caving, Jane rolled over and closed her eyes, thinking back to eight days ago – when she had unexpectedly found herself alone with Weller for the first time since he'd walked out of her safe house.

She'd come into headquarters for her appointment with Dr. Borden. The session was followed by her weekly polygraph. Afterward, she'd stopped into the conference room to grab a cup of coffee. Jane was snapping the lid on her cup when Weller suddenly walked in.

She could tell he was surprised to find her in there, despite the fact that the room was comprised of glass walls – his deer in headlights look was a dead giveaway. The truth was he'd been walking around in a daze ever since she'd been taken, and everyone was starting to notice.

"Hi," she said, for lack of anything better to say.

"Hey," he responded gruffly. He scratched the back of his neck as he looked around the room, looked anywhere but at her, planning his exit no doubt.

"How are you?" she asked.

He just laughed and shook his head.

The air was thick; heavy with all the things neither of them could say out loud. She took a step toward him and flinched when he took a step back.

"I better go, Mayfair is waiting," Weller said as he turned for the door.

"Kurt, wait," she said, calling after him. She didn't expect it, but he stopped, and turned back towards her.

"I just… I can't do this… this not talking," she tried to explain. "I need to know what you're thinking."

"You don't want to know what I'm thinking," he replied.

"Yes," she responded, "I do."

She waited for him to say something, but no words came.

"We can't keep saying nothing. I can't stand it anymore. What we had…"

"We?" he interrupted, raising his voice. "There is no 'we.' You want to know what I think? I think that I'm an idiot. For not seeing it… for not knowing that I was being used the entire time…" he trailed off, the hurt clear in his eyes.

Tears stung hers as she tried to hold his gaze, but it was too much. It was her fault, he blamed her.

"Kurt, I never meant to…"

"No," he interrupted, shaking his head. "I can't do this. Just… I have to go."

With that he'd walked from the room. It was the last time they'd said anything to each other, and that was over a week ago.

 **5:22 a.m.**

Jane opened her eyes again. After glancing at the clock, she rolled to her back and stared at the ceiling as silent tears stained her pillow case.

'Five more minutes,' she thought to herself. Five minutes to wallow, before getting up to face the day.

But it was just a minute later that her buzzing phone jarred her from her misery. She picked it up and read the display. It was Weller.

"We have a case."


	7. Chapter 7

_A/N: I just want to take a moment to thank everyone for the fantastic reviews. If you all hadn't pushed me to continue this story (and motivated me with your kind words), none of this would have ever come about. So thank you again, and thank you all for reading!_

 _As for the tattoo they crack in this chapter… I'm flying by the seat of my pants on this one. It's hard to guess what any of these mean when everything about the tattoos is completely fictitious. Also, I know nothing about how cargo shipping actually works (or if they even use codes), so just bear with me!_

* * *

The apprehension Jane felt upon entering the FBI was suffocating. She felt like she didn't belong there… like she didn't belong anywhere. As she rode the elevator up, she tried to swallow it down as best as she could… to put on a happy face. The long, stressful days and almost sleepless nights were catching up with her, but as tired and weary as she felt, one glance around the room as she stepped off the elevator showed her that she was probably the only one that had gotten any sleep at all the night before. Even though it wasn't much past six in the morning, the floor was bustling with activity. Everyone had dark circles under their eyes and cups of coffee at their desks. Jane made her way to Patterson's station, where the rest of the team was discussing whatever it was that one of Jane's tattoo's had triggered.

"What's going on?" she asked as she approached. "What's the case?"

"The tattoo on your left arm and upper chest, the one that looks like railroad track strips, we got a hit on it yesterday evening," Patterson explained excitedly.

"So what is it?" Jane asked, trying her best to mask the hurt she felt at not being called in sooner.

"We took the tattoo and stretched it and stacked to form one straight line. We've been analyzing the ink pattern in each of the square boxes, and there are actually a series of dotted patterns within each of the boxes. We ran them through the database and it turns out the dotted patterns correspond with braille letters and numbers."

"What did they say?" Jane asked, intrigued.

"There are two different types of sequences, the top half of the boxes are one type, the bottom half are the other. The top half seemed to be some sort of code, a code that I couldn't understand at first," Patterson said, "but when we ran it across our spectrum of databases, we got a hit. The codes relate to shipping manifests."

"What sort of shipping manifests?" Jane inquired.

"Overseas cargo shipping manifests," Weller explained. "They each correlate to shipping containers that originated in Turkey."

"Each cargo load has a specific code, and within that code, a designator for its destination," said Patterson. "All of these codes have the same destination – the Port Newark-Elizabeth Marine Terminal. The first one listed corresponds to cargo that was shipped a month ago, the last is one, for a shipment that's scheduled ten months from now."

"I called the Port Authority and this particular code has been in existence for almost three years," said Reade. "A container comes in every other week. We tapped into security footage from the port that corresponded with the last shipment, and we saw that the cargo was picked up using a single truck. Due to the angle of the camera, we were unable to see what was being unloaded, but we were able to track the truck's movement. They are moving the cargo from shipping containers at the port using PATH."

"What's PATH?" Jane asked.

"The Port Authority Trans-Hudson," Zapata chimed in. "It's a rapid transit rail system owned and operated by the Port Authority that operates in Manhattan and throughout New Jersey."

"Hence the railroad tracks," Patterson interjected.

"So how do we find out what they're shipping?" Jane asked.

Reade pointed towards the screen in front of them. Jane watched as he switched to a different video feed. "This is from the station where PATH houses all of the trains that aren't currently in commission," he explained.

Jane's mouth dropped as she watched armed men grabbing young girls from the truck and shoving them onto a rail car – a rail car with no windows that was not designated for passengers.

"We believe they are part of the Turkish mafia," Reade continued. "They're best known for drug trafficking, heroin mostly, but they are known for human trafficking as well. These women are most likely being sold into either slavery or prostitution."

"Oh my god," Jane whispered, not sure what else to say.

"Take a look at this though," Reade said as he switched to another section of the video. He zoomed in on the footage. Jane watched as one of the men handed a thick envelope to another man… a man clearly dressed in a police uniform. The police officer then kept watch throughout the transfer. Once the women were loaded onto the train car, the car was coupled to a train about to go into service.

"The police are in on it?" Jane asked.

"The Port Authority has it's own police force," said Mayfair. "We have already detained the officer in question and have agents working now to determine how high up the chain this goes."

"So what happens now?"

"According to your tattoos, the next shipment is due to arrive at 10 a.m. today," said Weller. "Past security footage has shown us that once the cargo…"

"Girls…" Jane interjected, "young girls."

Meeting her eyes, Weller cleared his throat.

"Once the _girls_ are loaded onto PATH, they take the train to Newark Penn Station."

"And after that?" Jane asked.

"Once the passengers depart from the train, it continues south, but then stops around Mulberry Street. From there, they are taken off the train and loaded onto another truck," explained Zapata. "Security cameras were spotty after that, but we were able to track the last truck as far as the Waste Management Plant on Avenue A."

"There are several rail lines that go right by that plant," said Reade. They could be taking these girls anywhere."

"Which is why we have to stop them," said Weller. "We are taking a SWAT team to the Waste Management Plant. If that's where they are holding the girls, it will be the best place to take down the assailants without putting any additional civilians at risk. We will wait for the truck to arrive, and then converge on them. Patterson, get the specs for the plant and send them to Reade as soon as you can. Everyone else, grab your gear, we're leaving in 10."

* * *

The team studied the specs as they drove out of the city towards New Jersey.

"There seems to be a small warehouse on the south end of the property that has several bays for loading and unloading trucks," said Weller. "If it were me, that's where I'd unload. It's close to the tracks, and away from the rest of the facility. That may be our best bet for cornering these guys, but if anyone has other ideas, by all means, chime in."

"Sounds good to me boss. I mean… we all know how often you're right," Zapata joked from the drivers seat.

Jane watched out of the corner of her eye as Weller cracked a small smile. It was the first time she'd seen him smile in three weeks.

"Okay, we'll have Patterson track the truck," he continued. "The four of us will enter the warehouse from the back. If it does pull into one of the bays, we'll make our way up the right and left sides, and meet in the middle, taking out the assailants. The rest of the SWAT team will surround the building. One squad will enter behind us; the other will cover the exits. Any questions?"

They all shook their heads, comfortable with the plan.

When they arrived at the plant, they parked the truck out of sight behind the warehouse. After Weller relayed the plan to HQ, they had only to sit and wait for whatever was going to come next.

Things had happened so fast that morning it was the first time Jane really had to think about everything going on. She felt such sorrow for the women that had been taken from their homes, sold into god knows what. But at least she was able to bring it to light. It was her body, her tattoos that led them to this… this, and so many other things that involved the worst of humanity doing unspeakable things. It made her wonder again why her team continued to be so suspicious of her. Why would anyone sacrifice themselves, their entire life, and their entire body, just to bring harm to a small group of agents at the FBI? What would the point of that be? There's something larger at play here, something that Jane must have been aware of in her former life… something so alarming that she made the decision to go to such extreme lengths to uncover it. She was more convinced now than ever before that her intentions were anything but malicious, and that she'd chosen Weller because she knew what a good asset he would be for uncovering the truth. She just had to figure out a way to convince her team of the same.

Jane was suddenly pulled from her thoughts as Patterson's voice chirped over the comms.

"The train just pulled out of Newark Penn Station, we're tracking it now," she said. "And I just wanted to let you guys know, we just got a hit on the code within the rest of the boxes in Jane's tattoo."

"What did you get?" Weller asked.

"The agents who interrogated our police officer got his badge number, as well as well as the names of everyone he knew of that were involved. We ran them though to get ID's and suddenly the numbers started to hit. The badge numbers of the named officers corresponded with numbers in some of the remaining boxes, and additional names hit as we converted the rest of the boxes to badge numbers. We now have a full list of every police officer involved… and let me tell you, the list goes pretty high up the chain."

"How high?" asked Reade.

"Mayfair's sending agents to talk with the governors of both New York and New Jersey high," she answered.

"Thanks Patterson," Weller said, "let us know when they make their next move."

"You got it," she responded.

"Every time we get a hit, it just makes you wonder what else we don't know about," Reade stated to no one in particular.

Silence fell over the team once again, but it was disrupted just a minute later.

"They're transferring the girls to the truck now," Patterson said. "We'll track the truck and let you know when it's on site."

"Check your gear and your ammo everyone, make sure you are set to go," Weller said.

Jane retightened her vest and secured her earpiece. She hoped four extra mags were enough.

"Okay, let's take up position," Weller commanded once everyone was set. "The four of us will enter the warehouse. SWAT will sit back in case the truck takes a different route."

Jane hopped out of the SUV and followed the team towards the doors on the backside of the warehouse. Reade extracted a small pouch from his pocket and picked the lock. They entered silently, and then took a knee to assess their surroundings.

The back half of the warehouse was home to rows of floor-to-ceiling shelving. The shelves were stacked with boxes. Pallets and extra boxes were strewn about. They littered the floor between the rows and lined the walls. The shelving stopped about half way up towards the front. The truck bays were at the far end of the building. That left about 50 yards of wide-open space with no cover.

"The truck is on the property," Patterson said. "It's backing up to the truck bay on the right side of the building... well, the left side of the building… err… your right if you're looking toward it."

Weller shook his head with another small smile.

"Infrared scan is reading two assailants inside the front of the truck, two outside the truck, and then there's just a whole blob of red in the back," Patterson finished.

"SWAT teams stand by to enter the building on my command," Weller whispered over comms, and then motioned to the team to move forward. They instantly split off. Zapata followed Weller as he peeled off to the right and Jane fell in behind Reade as he scaled the wall on the left. Using the shelving and stacked boxes as cover, the pair bound forward towards the truck, which was pulling into the loading dock on the far side.

They worked their way up to about where the shelving stopped. Jane made to cover Reade as he moved towards a stack of discarded pallets to their left, when suddenly she spotted two men, with weapons aimed right at him.

"Reade!" Jane yelled as she left her cover, not having a clear shot. She pushed him out of the way and to the floor just as bullets flew overhead. They stayed as they were, Jane shielding his body with her own, until the gunfire ceased.

Jane was the first to look up and around. The stack of boxes in front of them provided sufficient cover to the front, but she knew the assailants could be anywhere. It was eerily silent. She saw no movement and heard nothing. After a minute of sustained silence, Jane deemed it safe enough to get up and get a better look. She got to her knees and reached out a hand.

"Thanks," Reade said, as he placed his hand in hers. For the first time in three weeks Jane saw something other than disdain in his eyes. She had saved his life and he was genuinely grateful.

"No problem," Jane replied as she got to her feet, pulling Reade with her.

Their hands were still intertwined when Jane's face suddenly contorted with a mixture of surprise and pain. The gunshots echoed in Reade's ears as Jane pitched forward into his arms. She slumped to her knees – taking him with her – and her head fell to his shoulder. As he pulled her in, Reade barely registered the volley of gunfire that followed, or the agents yelling 'clear' to signify they'd taken down the last of the assailants. He wrapped his arms around her body, and slowly laid her on the ground. Blood instantly started pooling around her as her breath became shallow and erratic.

"Agent down, I repeat, agent down! I need a medivac immediately!" Reade screamed over comms, as his blood-soaked hand cradled Jane's face.

"Stay with me Jane… Jane! Open your eyes Jane!... Shit…" Reade quickly rolled her on her side to assess the damage. He ripped away her vest and lifted her shirt. He found two bullet holes, one just below her right shoulder, and one along her side in the area of her lung – right where her vest was most vulnerable. He rolled her back to check for exit wounds, but found none.

She was still breathing, but each breath became more and more shallow. Reade guessed one of the bullets had collapsed her lung.

"Jane, c'mon, stay with me… help is on the way," Reade pleaded with her as he did his best to apply pressure to her wounds. He watched helplessly as her eyes continued to flutter.

Suddenly Weller's voice came over their comms. "Reade… what happened? Are you alright?"

Reade realized that Jane's earpiece was still in, because her eyes flew open at the sound of Weller's voice.

"Wel…" she tried to say his name, but instantly started coughing. She turned her head to try and catch her breath… blood trickling from the corner of her lips.

"Weller… it's Jane… she's been shot." Reade explained with desperation in his voice. "The chopper is on its way."

"Where are you?"

"We followed the wall up the left side of the warehouse, right to about where the shelving ends."

"I'll be right there," Weller said, and the line went dead.

Jane's breath steadied somewhat and she turned her head, finding Reade's eyes.

"Reade," she whispered as her eyes closed again, exhaustion taking over from simply stating his name.

"C'mon Jane, open your eyes. What is it? C'mon, stay with me!"

Her eyes fluttered open, her gaze again finding his.

"I'm sorry… for everything…" she said as tears streamed down her cheeks.

"It's okay Jane, we'll figure it out, just stay with me, okay?"

"Please… tell him…" but before she could finish, she started choking on her own blood. Reade rolled her to her side to allow the crimson liquid to drip from her mouth.

"Reade!"

"Over here!" Reade responded to Weller's shout.

"Kurt…" His name was the last thing that fell from her lips as her eyes closed, the blackness swallowing her whole.


	8. Chapter 8

Beep… beep… beep... beep... beep… beep…

The rhythmic noise pulls her into consciousness. Her eyelids are like lead. She tries her hardest to open them, but they refuse. While this should scare her, she finds herself oddly content. She tries to move her arms and legs, but they too won't budge. Her limbs are heavy and warm and she feels the softest flutter of contact as it passes to and fro over her left hand. The beeping starts to lull her back into the abyss, when suddenly the low undertone of his deep, raspy voice invades her senses and pulls her back.

She tries to turn towards it, but her neck won't move either. She _should_ be afraid, _should_ be seriously worried that her body was refusing to work properly, but she isn't. The gruffness in his voice is a lullaby that calms her. She can't quite make out the words he's saying, but that doesn't matter much. It's the tenderness that draws her in, the raw emotion saved just for her – a tone she thought she'd never hear from him again. If her every moment could continue to be filled with the sound of his voice, she'd be content to lay idle forever.

She listens for as long as she can, but exhaustion from even the attempt to open her eyes has settled in. Despite all the reluctance she can muster, his voice soothes her back to sleep.

* * *

 **72 Hours Earlier**

" _It's Jane… she's been shot."_

Reade's words played over and over in Weller's head as he raced to find the other half of his team. Zapata was hot on his heels, just as eager to see what had happened.

They dodged agents left and right as they made their way to the far side of the warehouse – agents escorting the captured assailants to interrogation… agents offering water and blankets to the young girls that were released from the truck… agents sweeping the warehouse for any intel on the Turkish Mafia cell. As the lead agent, Weller should have been working with SWAT to wrap up the raid, but he couldn't care less about that at the moment.

He moved as quickly as he could, eager to get to Jane's side, but also terrified of what he'd find.

As they neared the left wall, Weller was met with haphazardly placed stacks of boxes and pallets.

"Reade!" he yelled desperately.

"Over here!"

Weller instantly adjusted his course to follow the sound of Reade's voice.

He saw her feet first, sticking out from behind one of the stacks. He slowed to a walk and hesitantly looked around the corner.

"Jane," it was a mere whisper as it fell from his lips.

His mind refused to believe what he was seeing. Where it wasn't covered by blood, the beautiful, alabaster skin of Jane's face was a sickly shade of pale white. Her hands were limp at her sides, her head rested against Reade's leg.

Reade looked up at him with desperation. His hands were pressed tightly to the wounds in Jane's side and back. There was blood everywhere.

Weller instantly dropped to his knees and placed his hands over Reade's. Reade withdrew his, allowing Weller to provide the pressure that he no longer could.

Zapata stepped around Weller and cradled Jane's head in her hands. She pressed two fingers against her neck and bent her cheek to Jane's mouth to listen for any sign of breath.

"Pulse is faint but I have a heartbeat," Zapata announced,"her breathing is very labored."

"Oh god Jane, please stay with me," Weller whispered as he redoubled his efforts to place pressure on her wounds. He watched as blood stained his skin. Years in the field had gotten him used to the warm, wet feel of blood between his fingers, but he was quickly losing his mind at the fact that this time, it was hers.

The three sat in silence, all willing Jane to hang on. Suddenly, the sound of the chopper broke through their reverie.

"Medivac's here, where's the vic located?" a voice asked over comms. Reade and Zapata both looked at Weller, but he was too focused on Jane to respond.

Reade relayed their location, and then stood to help direct the medics to Jane.

Weller was so fixated on watching the rise and fall of Jane's chest, he didn't realize that the medics had arrived. He jumped when a hand was placed on his shoulder. He looked up and saw Reade. The two medics were behind him with a gurney.

"Gun shot wounds to the shoulder and lung," Weller managed to relay. "No visible exit wounds."

"She lost consciousness about seven minutes ago," Reade added.

He kept pressure on her wounds as the medics worked their way around him.

"I need each of you to get your hands underneath her," the medic directed Reade and Zapata. "We're going to roll her on three. Agent Weller, keep pressure on those wounds while we get the backboard under her. One, two, three…"

Jane was rolled onto the backboard and lifted off the floor. Weller couldn't help but notice all of the blood that had pooled on the floor beneath her, but he didn't have time to dwell on it. Suddenly they were moving towards the gurney.

They laid Jane down and the medics instantly went to work. They placed an oxygen mask over her face and cut away her shirt to get a better look at the bullet wounds.

"Blood flow from the shoulder is minimal," said the medic, "but the one lodged in the lung worries me. We can't re-inflate the lung with the bullet still in there. We need to get her to the chopper immediately."

With that they were moving. Weller, Zapata and Reade followed closely behind.

They watched as Jane was loaded on the chopper, then Weller stepped forward to climb in after her.

The medic put his hand on Weller's shoulder to stop him.

"I'm sorry Agent Weller but you can't…"

"I'm going with her," Weller stated, pushing past the medic. He buckled himself in to a seat that gave him a clear view of her face.

The medics looked at one another and shrugged.

A minute later, they were in the air.

* * *

The medics instantly started working on Jane. They set up an IV, and started their evaluation. Weller didn't pay much attention to what they were saying, his focus was split between her face, and the heart rate monitor that was tracking her pulse.

All was holding steady until suddenly the tone of the machine changed.

"Blood pressure's dropping," one medic relayed to another.

"Can't find a pulse," he stated after placing his fingers on her wrist, then neck.

The beep of the heart rate monitor slowed… until it switched to the finality of one long stream of noise.

"No!" Weller screamed as her heartbeat disappeared from the screen.

"Starting manual compressions, grab the O2 bag," the medic said as he placed his hands over Jane's heart and started pumping.

The other medic placed the mask over her mouth and delivered oxygen at timed intervals.

Weller watched in helpless horror as the solid green line continued to march across the screen. He wasn't a religious man, but he prayed to whatever god would listen to bring her back to him.

The medics worked for about 45 seconds, but to Weller, it felt like forever. Suddenly, Jane's body lurched forward as best it could while being strapped to the gurney. She inhaled a huge breath and started coughing. The medic turned her head to the side so that she could catch her breath without choking. The heart rate monitor started beeping once again.

Jane's eyes suddenly opened as she fought to catch her breath.

"Jane," Weller yelled over the noise of the chopper and the medical machinery. "Jane!"

Her eyes lifted to his and he saw her register recognition.

"I'm hear Jane, please… don't leave me," he pled as he held her gaze. She held his stare for another ten seconds, then her eyes fluttered closed. She was unconscious once again.

* * *

 **Eight hours later**

Weller had traded pacing for sitting in one of the uncomfortable waiting room chairs about two hours ago. His elbow rested on the too small armrest and his forehead was cradled in his palm. Deliriously tired, he was floating in and out of consciousness.

Reade and Zapata had gone home hours before to change and get some sleep. Patterson was currently sitting on the opposite side of the room, half asleep herself. Despite all of their attempts to get Weller to leave, he hadn't budged. He refused to leave while Jane was still in surgery. Patterson had offered to stay to keep an eye on him until Reade and Zapata returned the next morning.

The swinging of the surgical wing doors suddenly overshadowed the din of the infomercial playing on the TV in the corner. Weller was instantly on his feet, apprehensively watching as the doctor made his way down the hall. His sudden movement jolted Patterson out of her stupor and she hopped up to stand next to him.

"What's the word, doc?" Weller asked as the doctor came to stand in front of him.

"It went as well as could be expected," the doctor replied. "The bullet that entered her shoulder was lodged in her muscle. We were able to remove the bullet and repair the damage. She'll have to wear a sling for a while and do a bit of rehab, but there won't be any permanent damage.

"And the other one?" Weller asked.

The doctor sighed "That one was a little more tricky," the doctor explained. "The bullet entered her side, collapsed her lung and ricocheted off of one of her ribs. This caused the bullet to lodge itself near her heart. The surgery took much longer than we anticipated. We were able to remove it, but it caused a lot of internal bleeding and inflammation. We were able to stop the bleeding but the swelling is still pretty severe. We induced a coma, which will help to reduce some of the swelling without her experiencing any pain."

"What does that mean?" Weller asked. "Will she wake up?"

"We will reevaluate her swelling in 12 hours," the doctor explained. "As the swelling reduces, we can wean her off of the medication and then yes, she will wake up. But we won't know how long that will take."

"Can I see her?" Weller asked. He trusted the doctor to tell him the truth, but he still needed to see her with his own eyes.

"Yes," the doctor responded. "We moved her to recovery in the ICU. I can take one of you to see her now."

Weller turned to look at Patterson.

"Go ahead," she told him. "I'll call Mayfair with the update and I'll hang in the waiting room for a little bit."

"Thanks Patterson," he said, taking her hand in his own briefly and squeezing it.

"Just call us if you get any news or if you need anything," she replied.

He nodded, and then turned to follow the doctor to Jane.

* * *

Weller followed the doctor through the maze that was the ICU. Finally, after what seemed like forever, they arrived at a small room marked recovery. Weller's heart lurched as his eyes came to rest on her sleeping form through the glass window. The room held three beds, but Jane's was the only one occupied.

"You can take a seat next to her bed," the doctor advised. "The nurse will be in to check on her in a little while."

"Thanks," Weller offered, before turning to enter the room.

He slowly pushed open the door and walked over to her bed. She almost didn't look real laying there. A machine was helping her breathe; there were tubes and wires everywhere.

He sat down next to her bed and gingerly lifted her hand into his.

* * *

The nurses were in and out throughout the night. They checked her vitals, and explained to Weller what everything was. The machine helping her breathe was worrisome, but they explained that it was just a precaution due to her collapsed lung. She was able to breathe on her own, but it was still labored.

Hours later, Weller wasn't sure how many exactly, they moved Jane from the recovery room to her own room. Weller took up residence next to her bed, and only left for bathroom and coffee breaks.

Reade, Zapata and Patterson filtered in and out throughout the next day, each trying to make their case for him to leave. But he adamantly refused. After what he witnessed in the chopper, he couldn't chance it.

Patterson stopped by that afternoon to fill him in on the case. He was happy to hear that intel found at the warehouse led them to the Turkish mafia cell's stronghold, and the SWAT team was able to take them down. With all his focus on Jane, he'd all but forgotten about the case, and was glad that the team had wrapped everything up.

"Any other hits on the database?" he asked.

"No," Paterson answered, "but I'll let you know as soon as anything happens."

"Thanks Patterson," he replied gratefully.

She stayed with him into the early evening, and then it was just he and Jane once again.

* * *

The slamming of Jane's door jolted Weller. He had no idea how long it'd been since Patterson left. He couldn't focus on anything but the rise and fall of Jane's chest and the feel of her hand in his.

He looked at his watch: 11:45 p.m.

He turned to see who had entered, and watched as Mayfair rounded Jane's bed.

"Hey," he said as she sat down in the room's only other chair.

"How long have you been here Agent Weller?" Mayfair asked.

Weller shrugged, still focused on Jane. The hours and minutes were all bleeding together. He honestly had no idea what day it was.

"Have you eaten? Slept?"

He just shrugged again.

"Weller… look at yourself," Mayfair implored.

His eyes reluctantly left Jane's sleeping form. He looked down at his attire and cringed. His shirt and jeans were still covered in her blood, and, despite furiously scrubbing his hands; there were still flecks of red under his nails.

"Go home and get cleaned up. Grab some food… maybe even some sleep."

"I can't leave," he responded.

"Don't make me make you," Mayfair warned.

Weller knew she was right. He was physically and mentally tapped out. A shower and a change of clothes would do some good. He was just so afraid to leave her side. If anything should happen…

"I will call you if anything changes," Mayfair promised, reading his mind.

He nodded, stood from the chair, and walked slowly to the door. At the threshold he turned for one last look, and then he made his way to the elevator.

* * *

Once outside, Weller scanned the parking lot and realized he'd flown with Jane to the hospital, so he didn't have a car. He decided to walk the 15 blocks to his house in lieu of hailing a cab. Truthfully he needed the fresh air and some time to think.

About halfway home Weller realized that walking might not have been the best idea. It gave him too much time to replay the last two days in his mind. Seeing Jane laying on that warehouse floor… watching her code in the helicopter… praying to whatever god might be out there as the medics brought her back to life… pacing the floor for hours as the surgeons worked to remove the bullets… seeing her unconscious when she was in recovery… holding her hand… hoping that she'd wake up.

To think he'd almost lost her after spending so much time pushing her away. He hated himself for it because he realized how much he still cared about her. But he also still felt so used and betrayed. It was hopelessly confusing.

Somehow, despite his confused, fatigued, depressed state, he made it home. He let himself into the apartment, thankful that it was almost one in the morning. Sarah and Sawyer were sound asleep. He was glad he could save them from seeing him like this.

Weller walked down the hall to the bathroom and turned on the water. He let the water warm up as he stripped off his clothes. His jeans literally stuck to his knees when he tried to pull them off. The crusted, dried blood had engraved itself into the small grooves of his skin, and he had to tug sharply to pull the offending fabric away.

Finally undressed he stepped under the spray. He held his face directly under the showerhead, letting the water cascade over his forehead and cheeks. He then bent his head low, so that the water could run down his neck and back. He opened his eyes and was horrified to see the river of red that lazily circled down the shower drain. The sight of her swirling blood was his last straw. He fought for breath against the steam in the small room as silent sobs suddenly consumed him. He leaned his forehead against the cool tile of the wall as tears burned down his cheeks.

He cried for the little girl he'd lost so long ago, and the woman who'd almost slipped through his fingertips just days before. He cried for how utterly cruel fate could be to give him exactly what his life had been missing, only to take it away. He cried until he had no tears left.

Physically and mentally spent, Weller pulled himself from the shower and immediately fell into bed. He set his alarm and then drifted off, dreaming of the freckle-faced five-year-old that had Jane's eyes.

* * *

When Weller returned to the hospital the next morning he felt somewhat refreshed. As much as he hated being away from Jane's side, he had to admit that the few hours of sleep he'd gotten had done him some good.

Thankfully one of his agents had returned his car to his apartment, so he was able to drive back to the hospital.

He walked through the ICU, now familiar with the layout, and walked to the doorway of Jane's room. He stepped over the threshold and instantly noticed the lack of machinery working to assist with her breathing.

"What's going on?" he asked Zapata, who was currently sitting in the chair next to Jane's bed.

"Mayfair said the doctor came in shortly after you left and decided the swelling had reduced to the point that they could bring her out of the coma," Zapata responded.

"Why didn't anyone call me?" he demanded as he walked to the other side of her bed, placing Jane's hand in his.

"Because you needed sleep Weller," Zapata replied, "and the doctor said it would take at least 12 hours for her to wake up… possibly 24. They only took her off the breathing machine about an hour ago."

"So she could wake up at any time?" he asked.

"Yep," Zapata replied. "So hopefully you have your 'I'm sorry' speech all worked out," she joked.

"That's not funny Tash," he said, looking stricken. "It's… more complicated than that."

"Alright, alright," she seceded with a knowing smile. "I'm officially staying out of it. Just make sure you take it easy on her when she first wakes up. Poor girl has been through enough, don't you think?"

Weller just scowled at Zapata as she packed her bag and left the room.

Once she left, he sat down next to Jane's bed, her hand still in his. He started rubbing his thumb lightly over the back of her hand.

He'd heard it a million times before – if you talk to coma patients, the sound of your voice can bring them back. Weller still wasn't sure he believed it, but he thought maybe, just maybe, if he talked to her, he might coax her from her slumber sooner.

He cleared his throat. "Hey Jane, it's me… uh, Kurt. I… I guess I'm going to give this whole talking to you thing a go, because, well, it couldn't hurt at this point right?"

He paused briefly, not really sure where to start.

"There are so many things I've wanted to tell you over the past three weeks, wanted to say to you. It's just… all so confusing. What do you say to a person when you want to wrap them in your arms and wring their neck all at the same time?"

He laughed then, thinking if he ever attempted the latter, Jane would probably have him flat on his back in no time.

He sobered quickly though. "That moment in the chopper, when I watched your life slip away, I knew that if I was lucky enough to be given a second chance, I'd take it. The truth is, you've made me feel things I never thought were possible to feel. I've been closed off for so long, but one look from you and suddenly I'm spilling my guts. I don't know how you do it… and it frightens me. I mean, you're doing it right now and you aren't even conscious."

He thought back to that moment in her safe house, when she'd trusted him enough to tell him the truth, and he'd thrown that trust back in her face.

"Everything you told me, about the video, about Oscar, about the truth behind your mission… I want to believe that your intentions are good, I just haven't figured out how to do that yet. And the worst part is that you don't remember, and you may never remember. I'm just scared that if I do this… if we do this, it could all blow up in my face."

And that was the truth of it for Weller. He'd spent his whole life guarded… had kept his walls sky high, and in four short months, Jane was able to take them down. He had no control over himself when it came to her, and that was a problem.

"I lost my whole world when Taylor disappeared all those years ago," he continued. "I was so hell bent on finding you… her… that I was broken… for 25 years. And then you showed up, and you started to fix me. It was terrifying because I didn't think I deserved it. And then when you told me about the video, it… I was just so angry, because whether you remember it or not, the reality is that I'm nothing but a mark for you, a con."

He paused then, thinking back to that perfect moment they'd shared outside his apartment. He'd felt everything in that kiss… everything they felt for each other… wanted to say to each other…

"I know your feelings are real. I _know_ they are. I just can't help but worry about what happens when you remember everything from before…I can't lose you again…"

His voice hitched at that last statement. Maybe she was Taylor, maybe she wasn't. Maybe she was capable of altering her course, of making this new life her new mission… but maybe she wasn't. And maybe his heart would get broken in the process of finding the answers to all of their questions… but maybe it wouldn't. All Weller knew for sure in that moment was that he couldn't lose her. Jane… Taylor… it didn't matter anymore. He couldn't lose _her_.

He kept rubbing her hand even after his speech was over. She hadn't moved, hadn't shown any sign of waking up, but the talk had helped. It had helped Weller understand the confusion a little bit better. He hoped that that clarity would continue to help him once she woke up.

He sat with her like that for hours, just holding her hand. At some point, his chin had fallen to his chest and his eyes had closed. He was in that special dream-like state between awake and sleep. He knew he was there, but he didn't want to leave it, because in his dream, Jane's hand was nudging his own and her eyes were finding his.

Suddenly, Weller realized that it wasn't a dream. Her hand really was moving under his. He sprang to his feet and squeezed tighter.

"Jane, can you hear me?" He asked as he bent over her bed. "Squeeze my hand if you can hear me."

At first he got no response, but then he felt the slightest pressure from her fingertips pressing into his own.

"There you go Jane," he exclaimed. "Now, let's see if you can open your eyes. Can you open your eyes for me?"

He reached over to press the nurse call button, and then his hand came to rest on the pillow above her head, his face about a foot from her own. He watched intently for any movement. It seemed like forever, and then suddenly he saw her eyelids flutter.

"There you go Jane," he coaxed, "c'mon, open those eyes for me."

Her lids continued to flutter, then oh so slowly, they lifted open. She blinked once, twice, and then her eyes came to rest on his.

Her eyes looking into his was about the most beautiful sight he'd ever seen. Weller couldn't help but smile as she continued to hold his stare.

"Hi," he said then, unable to come up with anything more eloquent.

"Hi," she whispered, her eyes never leaving his.


	9. Chapter 9

Weller couldn't stop staring into her eyes. They were clouded with exhaustion, but as each second passed, he could see her becoming more aware of her surroundings.

"What happened to me?" she asked after a full minute of their silent staring.

"You were shot. Twice," he gruffly replied, squeezing her hand tightly in his.

"How did it…" she started to ask, but suddenly her room was a flutter of activity.

Two nurses bustled in, and started checking her vitals. Weller backed off, giving them the space they needed. Thankfully, one of the nurses walked Jane through the events of the past three days, saving Weller from having to do so himself. He wasn't sure how well he'd be able to hold it together if he had to explain what had happened.

When the doctor came in and joined the nurses, Weller quietly backed out of the room so that he could call Mayfair with the update.

"She's awake," he announced, the happiness clear in his voice.

"How's she doing?" Mayfair asked.

"She seems coherent," Weller replied. "The doctor is in with her now, so I'll know more in a little while."

"Let her know that we're all happy she's back, and make sure to keep us updated," Mayfair answered.

"Will do," Weller replied.

He stood outside her room, impatiently waiting for the doctor and nurses to finish up. Finally the trio left her room.

"How is she?" Weller asked.

"Vitals are strong," the doctor replied, "there is still a slight rasp in her lung when she breathes, but that will clear up. Her shoulder is weak, but physical therapy will help her to gain her strength back. We will monitor her here for another 24 hours, and if all is well, we can move her out of the ICU."

"Thanks doc," Weller replied, shaking the man's hand. "Thanks a lot."

* * *

Her eyes were closed when he re-entered her room. He walked quietly over to the side of her bed. She didn't move, so he assumed she was sleeping. He sat down, and carefully lifted her hand into his.

She flinched at the contact. Her eyes opened groggily, but then they cleared and settled on him.

"God Jane, you scared me," Weller confessed.

"What are you doing here?" she asked him as she pulled her hand from his.

"What am I…" Weller trailed off, looking at her confused, "What?"

"Before this happened you couldn't even look at me," Jane pushed. "I don't understand what's changed."

"Jane," her name came out as a desperate plea.

"Do you know how awful the last three weeks have been for me?" she asked, the anger and hurt clear in her voice. "How guilty I've felt for something I don't even remember doing? How alone I've been?"

She turned her gaze to the opposite wall, straining to hold her composure.

"And you think it hasn't been awful for me?" he replied in a low, gravely tone.

She met his eyes then. "Tell me," she pleaded.

He shook his head, trying to hold back the emotions that had been swirling in his head since he saw her lying in a pool of blood on that warehouse floor.

"Tell me," she said again.

He cleared his throat.

"Imagine how it feels to find out that the woman you…" he paused, not really sure what he was trying to say, "came to trust your life with," he eventually continued, "turns out to be…." he dropped his eyes from hers, his hand absently ran over the back of his neck as he willed the tears away.

"Kurt…"

And I _know_ Jane," he continued, finding and holding her gaze once again, "I know that you don't remember. I know that what you feel is… real, but..." he trailed off, still not sure how to explain exactly how he felt.

"You still can't help but see me as someone who's just using you," she finished for him.

Rubbing his hand across his forehead, he sighed.

"I've just been so confused," he attempted to explain. "My heart is telling me one thing, while my gut is telling me another. And before I met you, I never had to choose between following one over the other."

"Is what you feel real, too?" she asked, with a boldness that surprised even her.

His eyes shot back to hers. He didn't say a word but she could see it clear as day. The want, the need, the protectiveness, and the devotion… she felt like she could see his soul. It was all there. Everything she felt for him was reflected right back at her.

She reached her hand out then. He stared at it for a moment, laying palm up on the bed, and then slowly he reached to wrap his fingers around hers.

"When I came around that stack of boxes, and saw you laying there…" he trailed off, tears instantly threatening at the corner of his eyes. "I don't know why my name is on your back. I don't know if it's because you're Taylor, if it's because you're using my status at the FBI to achieve your own agenda, if it's something else entirely… but what I do know, is that I can't lose you. And that scares the hell out of me."

He watched as silent tears started streaming down her cheeks, and he realized that he too had let some escape.

She tugged on his hand then, forcing him to stand, to which he instantly complied. She pulled him forward and placed his palm over her heart.

"I'm right here," she said as she drew him even closer.

"Jane…" he whispered as his lips touched hers.

His right hand stayed pressed to her heart as his left moved to wrap around her neck. The hand she could lift moved to his shoulder, pulling him closer. His lips moved slowly over hers. They could taste the saltiness of each other's tears as he continued his delicate onslaught.

When it was necessary to pull apart for breath, he rested his forehead against hers.

"I'm sorry," he whispered.

Her answer to his apology was to pull his lips back to hers.

* * *

Weller stayed with her even after she'd fallen asleep, their hands still intertwined.

Apologies were one thing, but he knew that once she returned to full strength, they'd have a lot to work through.

It wasn't the first time they'd hurt each other, and it wouldn't be the last, but as he watched the delicate rise and fall of her chest, he vowed that no matter what came at them, they'd be in it together.

* * *

 _A/N: aaaannnnndd….. that's it! For really real this time (I'm talking to you Terp4Life). Thank you one last time for all of your amazing reviews. Who knows how this will actually play out on the show… but I think Jane and Weller will make it through!_

 _Until then… thanks for reading! And I'm sure I'll hop back on the Blindspot writing bandwagon soon. If anyone has any prompts… send them my way!_


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